Zombieworld
by Zeplerfer
Summary: An American teenager and a gun-toting Englishman team up to survive the zombie apocalypse. Although they may never find the twinkies and rum that each craves, they may end up with something even better instead. USUK. Twoshot based on Zombieland.
1. Twinkies and Trojans

_Gift fic for Fire Bear1! You're the best, dear. Thank you so much for all of your extremely helpful reviews. Here, have some zombies and unresolved sexual tension as a thank-you present!_

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><p>The blond teenager sauntered along the deserted grocery store aisle, keeping his shotgun at the ready and his ears perked for the sound of shuffling footsteps. In an earlier life the aisle had stored "Cookies and Crackers" according to the signs still hanging from the ceiling. Now there was nothing left but wrappers and a few crumbs. He still glanced up and down the shelves, hoping against hope to find that sweet, sugary goodness he had been desperately craving for weeks. Alas, it wasn't to be. They were all out of twinkies.<p>

Based on the annoyed huffs he could hear from the other side of the store, it sounded like his partner's luck wasn't any better. Still, although the front of the store was cleaned out, the teen wasn't quite ready to give up hope. "Hey, England! I'm going to check the back for twinkies, okay?" he called.

"Fine. See if they have any rum!" the other man replied.

Rum and twinkies would make one hell of a meal the teen thought to himself with a grin as he strode to the back of the desolate store. He found the door and pushed it open without a second thought, only to gasp in surprise when he discovered that he wasn't alone. Two girls stood huddled together in the center of the break room. One was young, with pale blond hair, and she carefully clutched a bandaged arm to her chest. The other was older and brunette, with an anxious frown plastered on her face. The older one whirled around with a startled, suspicious expression.

Recovering from his surprise, the teen strapped his shotgun onto his back and lifted up his hands to show that they were empty. "Uh, hi! Are you okay?"

"No!" the brunette's face fell and she barely choked back a sob. "My sister was bitten!"

"Shit. Are you sure?" the teenager asked, glancing desperately between the two. He felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach. He liked running into other humans, because it was nice to remember that there were other people in the world, but he could never stand to see them suffer.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," the blond girl protested, the determination in her voice belied by the fear in her eyes.

The older one ducked her head and turned to rest a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lili. You've been so brave." She hugged her sister. After a tender moment, she turned to face the teenager who was still standing awkwardly by the door. "Can you help us?" she asked. "We've already said goodbye, but we didn't have a gun."

"A gun, why would you need...?" his face twisted in horror and he took a step back, violently shaking his head. "No! No, no, no!"

"Please, I don't want to be a monster," Lili said, her voice quivering in a heart-breaking manner.

The teen shook his head again. There was no way he could kill a 12-year-old girl! He heard footsteps draw closer and breathed a sigh of relief. Even if he didn't know what to do, the other man he was traveling with would definitely have an answer. He was smart like that. That was probably why they were both still alive

"America! Are you done looking for the bloody twinkies?" the other man's voice grew louder. "I've checked the liquor aisle and... who are _they_?" he demanded, immediately raising his handgun and glaring at the two girls distrustfully as soon as he stepped into the room.

'America' knew that 'England' was suspicious of everyone (hence the silly nicknames), but threatening to kill a little girl was a bit much even for him. Making a disapproving noise, the teenager stepped over and pushed down the gun so that it was pointing at the ground. "Geez, England. Stop that. They're sisters. The little one's been bit," he explained, adding the final part in a whisper.

England immediately lifted the gun again, targeting Lili. "Well, there's only one thing to do for her now."

"Hey, you can't just shoot her!" America shouted. Shocked and appalled, he glared and stepped between him and the girl, and grabbed the gun out of England's hands.

"Shooting her is a kindness. Now give me back my gun."

"No, I'm not going to let you _murder_ her in front of her sister."

"America, do you remember Rule One? It was my only rule, and you keep breaking it!"

As much as he wanted to keep arguing, America tensed when he felt the barrel of a gun press against his back.

"Don't move," the brunette warned, "or the boy toy gets it."

"I'm not a boy toy!" the teenager protested. "We're not a couple!"

"Is that honestly your biggest concern right now?" she retorted, pushing the gun into his back.

"You're not in a position to be making demands," England replied with a smirk on his face. America didn't want to turn his head to look, but he could guess where England was pointing his gun. "I could kill your sister. And I would be doing the world a favor."

"Well, I could kill your boy toy," Liz hissed.

"I'm not a boy toy!"

"Shall we see who pulls the trigger faster?" England asked.

The brunette glared, but it was obvious to everyone that they were at an impasse. Still, as long as they were going to be standing around pointing guns at each other, she felt like she might as well get some of her questions answered. "Why did you call him 'England'?"

"Because he's British."

"English," came the crisp correction.

"Whatever, dude."

"Doesn't he have a name?" she asked.

Trying not to move very much, America jerked his head slightly towards England. "It was his idea not to use our real names. You know, as a way to keep things impersonal in case either of us gets bit."

"So, 'England,' how's the name thing working for you?" the brunette teased with a smirk.

He glared. "It's working just fine."

They stared at each other in sullen silence as the brunette tried to work out a way to end the impasse without risking Lili's life. She could see that England was making the same calculations. The fierce protectiveness in his eyes would have been sweet if it wasn't ruining her plans.

"Liz, do you hear that?" Lili whispered, a genuine tremble of fear in her voice. They all went silent and listened. The sounds of dragging, shuffling footsteps were coming closer. It seemed that their loud argument had drawn attention.

"Zombie truce," Liz offered.

England scowled and shook his head, keeping his gun pointed at the young girl. "I'm not falling for your tricks, woman. Those are probably just more of your marauding band of fraudsters."

"It's not a trick! You're in my line of fire!"

"Watch out!" America cried as the first zombie burst into the back room. Ignoring the gun pressed against his back, he leapt forward and pulled England to the ground.

Above their heads, Liz fired her pistol at the zombie, knocking the undead creature back into the crowd of its fellow zombies. Lili grabbed her own scope rifle from its hiding place. She carefully aimed and took down two zombies with one shot. Taking advantage of the break in fire, England and America scrambled away from the doorway. Once they reached the safety of the center of the room, England whirled around and fired at the next zombie, giving America time to aim his shotgun. He began pelting the zombies with scattershot, knocking the whole group back. By unspoken agreement, the four humans formed a firing line facing the doorway. Determination in every face, they kept firing until the last of the zombies was dead and all of the bodies had stopped twitching on the blood-soaked floor.

"Is that all of them?" America asked, his shotgun aimed at the doorway. They waited a few minutes, then relaxed as silence filled the abandoned grocery store. "You're a real good shot," he complimented Lili.

She smiled. "Thanks, my brother taught me. We're trying to find him and his friend."

"I'm hoping to find my brother too," the teenager replied, before glancing down at the bite mark on her arm. "Shit, I'm so sorry."

To his surprise, the girl laughed and wiped away the blood. "Oh, don't worry about that. That's just raspberry jam."

America cocked his head to the side. "But why pretend that you were bit?"

"They ask unsuspecting rubes for their guns and then, once their victims are unarmed, steal everything they own," England interjected, glaring at the two women.

Liz glared back. "I'm just taking from _them_ before they can take from _us_. And I promise you, they wouldn't stop at taking food and guns."

"Guys, please, no more fighting," America said, stepping between them. "The real enemies are out there, and they want to eat our brains." England and Liz eyed each other warily, but nodded and warily put away their guns.

"I can't imagine why they'd want _your_ brains," England groused, his expression the long-suffering look of a man forced to put up with a clueless, oblivious, overly trusting American teenager. But the words had no real bite and he couldn't hide the slight fondness in his eyes.

The brunette grinned at America. "You know, kid, I think there's someone in _here_ who wants to eat you, but probably not your brains." She resisted the urge to pinch the teenager's cheeks as he just blinked in confusion. Instead she grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. "Come with me just a second, there's something you should have."

"Absolutely not," England protested. "Rule number one, America!"

America glanced between them. He gave England an apologetic smile and followed Liz to the door. "I think this is important. Sorry, I'll be back."

"Rule number one: don't be an idiot!" England called, giving Liz one final glare.

Pausing in the doorway, she smiled back at England and winked. "Relax. You have my sister as a hostage. We'll be back in a tick."

Carefully stepping over the zombies' bodies, she led the American teenager to the pharmacy section of the store. As she had hoped, there were still lube and a few packages of condoms. It seemed that safe sex wasn't the top priority of survivors after the zombie apocalypse. While America blushed furiously, Liz checked the expiration dates. She picked an unexpired box of condoms and a bottle of lube and stashed them into the knapsack on America's back.

"Uh, I'm sorry, you're really pretty, but you're n-not my type," he stuttered.

She grinned. "Oh, I can see _that_. Your type is a bit more grouchy and masculine. I just want you two to be prepared, and I thought that your friend would reject my attempt to be helpful. I know _his_ type too and he's going to keep denying everything until he starts kissing you."

America gulped, his cheeks burning bright as he stared at the floor. "Do you really think so?" he asked in a nervous whisper.

"Trust me," she patted him on the shoulder and smiled. "You were searching for twinkies earlier, right?"

He sighed. "Yeah, they're kind of hard to find." Everyone knew that twinkies were a compact, high-calorie food source that lasted nearly forever, so they were always the first foods scavenged at any grocery store.

She leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "Look on the bright side. You can have something delicious and cream-filled whenever you want." With a warm chuckle, she spun on her heels and returned to the back room.

England gave them a suspicious look as they returned, but Liz noticed the spark of relief in his eyes as soon as America entered his view. "We should be going," he said gruffly, lifting up the bags of non-food supplies the two men had scavenged from the nearly empty store.

America nodded and took his share of the bags. He gave the two women a smile and a wave. "Take care!" he called. "And good luck finding your brother."

Liz waited until they were nearly out of the store before she shouted, "England! You'd better get a taste for yourself before the zombies beat you to it!" She grinned, thoroughly enjoying the way they hastily looked away from each other and blushed. Matchmaking had been her favorite hobby before the zombie virus struck, and it was nice to have a chance to try to bring people together, even in a world filled with brain-eating monstrosities. She liked to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.

"Should we follow them and plan an ambush?" Lili asked sweetly as soon as the two men were completely out of earshot.

"Nah, not these two. They were helpful, and I'd hate for the guy to get killed before he finally eats his twink."

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><p><em>AN_

_Twink: "The stereotypical twink is 18-22, slender with little or no body hair, often blonde, and is not particularly intelligent."_


	2. Splash Mountain

"This has to be the stupidest thing I have ever done," a young man with an English accent muttered irritably as he flipped the circuit breakers for the Frontierland section of the park. Lights flashed and music started to play as the nearby rides rumbled to life.

His teenage companion gave him a wide grin. "If it's so stupid, why are you doing it?"

"Because _someone_ won't shut up about it," the first man complained, leading the way out of the breaker room. "Now let's just do the dumb ride and get this over with."

Leaving their heavy packs behind in the utility room, they climbed a metal staircase and opened a door that was marked 'Employees Only' on the outside. The younger man gasped in giddy excitement as they caught their first glimpse of the park brought to life. A train chugged along on the ride across from them while the waterfalls on Splash Mountain began to flow. Beneath the blue summer skies, Disney World looked surprisingly normal… except for the complete lack of crowds.

"Race you there, England!" the teen shouted, laughing as he jumped over the wooden railings that would have kept people in line when the park was still in use. He raced past the photo booth and took the stairs to the upper loading level two at a time. The sounds of footfalls and loud cursing told him that his friend was close behind.

Running away from zoms had really improved the teenager's cardio because he wasn't even breathing hard as he dashed along the long hallway to the loading area. The walls had a rough-hewn, rustic feeling and the ceiling was lit with old-fashioned lanterns. All around them, the sounds of banjo music filled the air. Hearing England close in on him, he stopped admiring the rustic decorations and picked up his speed.

After a few more turns, he could see the light ahead at the end of the tunnel. With a loud whoop, the teen jumped over the nearest wooden turnstile and climbed into a boat shaped like a log. It rocked back and forth as England climbed in behind him.

He turned around and gave England a warm grin. "Glad you could make it, slow-poke!" he teased, heart pounding as he saw his affection mirrored in England's gaze. He couldn't really say when he had first noticed it, but it was definitely there.

"Honestly, America. Was that really necessary?" the green-eyed, tousle-haired man retorted, though he sounded more amused than irritated.

"Yep!" The American gripped the sides of the log as the boat gradually ascended a ramp. To their left, an animatronic frog welcomed them to the ride. They emerged into the bright sunlight in what looked like a patch of thorns in the middle of a pond. A fake mountain rose on their right with a giant waterfall cascading down the center. "Look at that!" he cried as they watched one of the log boats drop down the waterfall slide.

"Oh goody, we're going to get wet," his companion snarked. But beneath the usual sarcasm, America was certain he could hear an undercurrent of genuine pleasure at the thought of a fun ride on Splash Mountain on a hot summer day.

Their log boat rocked from side to side, moving slowly with the current of the fake river. The boisterous blond threw his hands into the air and whooped as the ride plunged into darkness again. They boat arched upward and they ascended another ramp, going higher and higher, until they were almost five stories above the ground.

At the top of the tunnel, they were greeted with bright sunlight and fanciful decorations. Gardens and tiny log cabins dotted the side of the river, making it look like a tranquil farmland paradise. It wasn't exactly the tunnel of love, but America hoped that England appreciated the thought. Maybe it would help convey the feelings he couldn't find the words to express.

"Am I supposed to recognize any of this?" England asked.

"Nah, it's from Song of the South."

"I've never even heard of that."

"Yeah, it's one of the racist ones they don't talk about anymore."

"I can see… bloody hell."

Hearing the genuine fear in England's voice, the blond teenager glanced over the top of the fake mountain and, in the courtyard below, saw crowds of people ambling toward their ride. A second later, he realized they weren't people. At least, not anymore.

"Fuck!" The horde disappeared from view as the ride began its first drop and America felt a rush of true terror. He unstrapped the rifle from his back and prayed that he had enough magazines to meet the oncoming horde. Behind him, he could hear England cocking his trusty firearm.

Between the two of them, they had enough to kill a few dozen zoms… right?

The water carried them through the center of the mountain while puppets played relentlessly cheerful music on either side of the river. Amidst the bright and colorful decorations, a band of geese sang about fishing while a rabbit tended a garden. Tiny log houses with bright flowers painted a picture of bucolic tranquility.

Over the sound of the lighthearted country music, the American could hear a loud groaning approaching them. A zombie shambled past an animatronic fox—and splashed into the water after a quick shot to the chest from England's gun.

The Englishman cocked his gun again. "Bet I can kill more than you can."

"You're on," America replied, taking out the next zombie as it tried to leap into the boat by using a toadstool mushroom as a stepping stone.

The ride grew darker as they moved forward, making it harder to spot their undead attackers. "Duck!" England yelled, firing a shot over the teen's head. The zombie's body splashed next to the boat, rocking it from side to side and drenching them both with warm water. "Two-one."

The boat went down another slide and America nearly lost his grip on his wet gun. He pulled it up just in time and managed to shoot the nearest zombie before it could jump into their log boat. It fell backwards, leaving blood smears on a wooden sign.

'Go Back!' the sign warned. 'Danger ahead!'

As the music turned dark and sinister, several animatronic crows taunted them. "Time to be turning around!" one cackled. "If only you could!" another added.

"Shut up." England shot one of the crows and the taunts stopped. "Three-two."

"Hey, that doesn't count!" America protested.

The sounds of zombies faded away as they began their final ascent. For a moment, America hoped that they were in the clear. He could hear the waterfall just ahead. His hopes were dashed a moment later as they crested the top of the ramp. A huge horde of zoms waited at the base of the ride, salivating for their brains.

"Fuck," America swore again as the boat swooshed down the slide. It was the most terrifying and exhilarating moment of his life. He didn't even have time to appreciate the view of Cinderella's Castle in the distance. Over the sound of rushing water, he heard England fire off another shot as a zombie went flying past.

They hurtled toward the horde, and America's last thought before they reached the bottom was that if he died, at least he would die fighting by England's side. He just regretted that he had never learned England's true name.

Hitting the base of the waterfall with a giant splash, they crashed into the pile of zombies like a bowling ball mowing down a line of pins. The boat groaned as it tried to move forward along the underwater tracks despite the mass of undead bodies around it. Rotting arms and legs were torn from the zombies' bodies as the boat sheered its way through the fetid undead.

Without any time to aim, the American swung his gun left and right, desperate to keep the zoms out of the boat before they could overwhelm him. He cleared the path in front of them while England exterminated the pack behind them. When he finally had space to aim, the teen fired shot after shot into the endless horde with his finger heavy on the trigger, quickly losing track of his kill count.

"America! Watch out!" England shouted as a zombie surprised America from behind a rock outcropping and climbed into the boat, trapping the teenager's gun between them as it tried to bite his face. The foul, rotting corpse stench made him gag. The zombie nearly bit his nose and America bit back a scream of pure terror.

A direct headshot from England's gun left blood splatters on America's face and glasses. The zombie's arms and legs flailed wildly—like a chicken's body after decapitation—but the creature was no longer a threat once the head was gone.

Trying not to throw up, the teenager heaved the dead body off of him and rolled it over the side of the boat as he gasped for breath in the relatively fresh air. Heart pounding, he lifted his gun to fire and found himself without any targets. It took him another moment to realize that England had finished off the last of the horde. A few twitching limbs in the water were all that remained. Their boat entered a narrow canyon filled with the empty log boats that had slid down the waterfall before them. England shot a zombie arm that was clutching the boat behind them. The hand fell backward into the water, staining it crimson red.

"Seventeen. I do believe victory is mine," the Englishman remarked calmly.

"Yeah…" America glanced back at the other man and felt his heart lighten in relief. Even half-drenched and splattered in blood, England looked gorgeous. Most importantly, they were still alive. He grinned and laughed a little hysterically. "That was awesome! Let's do it again!"

"Oh, hell no," England replied, shooting down the idea as quickly as he had fired his gun. He stood up and gauged the distance between their boat and a walkway on the side of the ride. "I want to find the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Maybe it'll have rum."

"Dude, didn't you learn anything from the movies? The rum is always gone."

"We'll see about that." The Englishman stretched his leg to the other side and had nearly made it to the walkway when a hand reached up from the depths and grabbed his leg.

"ENGLAND!" America screamed. He lunged forward, trying to grab the Englishman before the zombie arm could pull him under. He heard a sickening thud as the other man's head bounced off the side of the boat in front of them. Feeling like he was trapped in slow motion, the terrified teenager stretched out his arm, but he was too late to stop his friend from sinking into the water.

Without a second thought, America jumped into the river after him, landing in blood-stained water up to his thighs. The body parts from their earlier kills were still flailing in their death throes. He felt zombie legs kick him as disembodied hands tried to drag him under. The teenager could only pray that the zombie heads, with their infectious bites, had been dragged further away by the current. Struggling to stay upright, he reached into the space between the boats and tried to find England's body.

He felt hands and legs and other body parts floating in the current, but none of them belonged to England. As each second passed, he grew more frantic. The sound of something scraping against the bottom of the log made his heart plummet. His friend was trapped underneath the boat!

Fighting against the current and the zombie body parts, it took America what felt like an eternity to reach the other end of the log. He reached beneath the boat and pulled on the first limb that came to hand. The light weight told him that it was part of a zombie and he flung it to the side and tried again. He was luckier the next time and grasped a heavy body. America pulled with all of his strength, desperate to get both of them out of the water before they were infected.

He screamed as he felt something chomp onto his foot.

With speed born of adrenaline and frenzied desperation, he tugged England out from underneath the log boat, making the log behind them fall off its tracks as he jerked backward into it. The teen didn't even notice his back pain as he scooped the limp body into his arms and tossed England to the safety of the walkway. Pushing against the weight of the zombie head attached to his shoe and the zombie arms that were trying to pull him down, America took two slow steps toward safety and launched himself out of the river, knocking most of the body parts off in the process.

Chest tight with panic, America crawled next to the motionless body. He rolled England onto his back and tried to remember his first aid class. The bluish tint near England's lips sent a chill of fear down his spine.

America pinched the other man's nose with his fingers and bent forward to breathe into his mouth. One deep breath. Two. He pushed the air into England's lungs. Three breaths. Four.

"Please, please," America whispered, as he pressed the palm of his hands against England's chest.

It was so unfair! He'd never even had a chance to tell England how he felt. Had he known? Maybe, but it was so hard to tell sometimes what England was thinking. Chest aching, America breathed once more into the cold, unresponsive lips. A slight movement was his only warning before England was coughing river water into his open mouth. America pulled away and spit it out as England curled onto his side and gasped for breath.

The joy of Christmas morning paled in comparison to the happiness America felt seeing his friend cough for breath on the walkway as log boats floated past them.

"What happened?" England asked once he finished coughing out all the water.

Giving his friend a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, America helped him sit upright and finally glanced around to make sure that no zoms were heading toward them. The coast was clear. "A disembodied hand tried to drown you," he explained.

A bit of color returned to England's face. "And you jumped in after me?" he demanded, noticing the teen's sopping wet clothes. "You could have been bitten! You shouldn't be so stupid."

"Yeah, well… you know me." The teenager shrugged and felt another wave of relief as he scoured England's body and didn't see anything that resembled a bite mark. Noticing a few zombie hands that were still clutching their wet clothes, the teen began plucking them off and flinging them back into the river. After their narrow escape, America cursed his own stupidity. Jumping in after England had been the right thing to do—but it was his fault that England had been on the ride in the first place. "This ride was a stupid idea," he admitted.

England smiled wanly and let America help him to his feet. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought. That sounded an awful lot like an apology."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the teen replied breezily, walking to the edge of the walkway and checking for zombies ahead of them. He whirled around when he heard his friend's strangled gasp.

"Oh, god," England stumbled forward with a stricken look on his face. He knelt down next to America's left foot and pointed to the area where a zombie head had bitten through the back of the shoe and into part of the sock. "Did it pierce the skin?" he demanded, frantically pulling off the teenager's shoe and brushing his fingers along the skin. He leaned back with a look of worry still on his face. "I don't see any blood… but it could have washed away."

"Shit." The teen glanced down at his own foot with a growing sense of fear. In the panic of the moment, he had forgotten about the underwater bite. It had hurt, but that didn't mean the zombie had pierced his skin. He could still be okay, he told himself, finding the courage to meet England's worried gaze. There was so much he wanted to say…

Caught up in the tense moment, both of them started as they heard the sound of someone slowly walking toward them. Footsteps crunched on gravel. It could be either a zombie or a human, but a human wasn't necessarily less dangerous.

"Where's my gun?" England whispered.

"In the river," America whispered back.

"Where's _your_ gun?"

The teenager flushed. "Uh… still in the boat."

A zombie ambled into view and they did the only thing they could. They ran.

With his longer legs, America led the way back to the utility room. They both had spare guns in their bags and he would definitely feel much safer with a glock in his hand. He yanked open the 'Employees Only' door and then took the metal stairs two at a time. He breathed a sigh of relief to find their packs exactly where they had left them.

England grabbed the guns out of their packs while America flipped the breaker switches back to the off position. He suspected that the lights and music had attracted the zombie horde. Once he was finished, he turned around to find England blocking his path.

"Before we go back up there, there's something I want you to know…"

"Yeah?" America held his breath, hope fluttering in his chest.

The Englishman leaned closer and America puckered his lips. But instead of giving him a kiss, the young man's lips brushed next to the teenager's right ear. "Arthur," he whispered. And with that, he turned around and headed back toward the sunlight.

It took the teen a few seconds to process what had happened. He dashed after Eng—_Arthur_ and caught up with him at the top of the stairs. All around them the rides slowly ground to a halt and the water on Splash Mountain dried up, revealing a pile of rotting corpses. The monitors closest to them flickered, showing pictures that would have been available for purchase in better days. Most of them featured empty logs, but in the middle he could see a photo of them going down the waterfall. The camera had caught the exact moment when Arthur had shot a zombie lunging for their boat. It was a good shot. It flickered and disappeared. Within minutes, the lights and music were gone, leaving them with a park that felt like a dying shell of its former glory.

The zombie they had met at the end of the ride ambled into view with a few of its friends, but armed and reloaded, they made mincemeat of the small group. The area was once again clear.

"We should find somewhere to hole up for a day or two," Arthur suggested, his worried gaze flickering down to the teenager's torn shoe. "Just to be sure."

"Yeah." Despite his worries about the potential infection, the teen smiled as he turned to look at the castle at the center of the park. If this was his last night on Earth, he knew where he wanted to spend it… and with whom. "I know just the place," he explained, taking Arthur by the hand as he led the way to Cinderella's Castle. "And, um, I'm Alfred, by the way."

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><p><em>AN_

_Happy Halloween!_

_The last chapter will be the smut chapter, so expect that to be A03 only._


End file.
